


Harry's Your Uncle

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-01
Updated: 1999-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Harry's Your Uncle

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Harry's Your Uncle

#  Harry's Your Uncle

The Sandpiper glided in midair and touched on the tarmac of the Chicago Regional Airport like feather at last finding rest from the breeze. July had never been so mild or wet. The humidity wrapped its fog-like presence around the aircraft making it look like a wraith emerging from the depths of the unknown. At last, the plane came to a full stop. The hatch popped open and two men stepped out. The tallest one would have been construed as handsome had it not been for the ratty chestnut hair that hung from his head like burnt straw and the beard to catch a badger in. His parka was filthy, as were his overalls and lumberjack shirt. His friend, a slightly shorter man with dark curly hair and frightening beard, scratched his face and grinned.  
  
"I liked that landing," he said.  
  
The taller man laughed.  
  
"The evening's full of linnet wings, my friend." He reached into the front seat of the plane and pulled out a box. "Come," he patted his friend on the shoulder, "there is someone here I would like you to meet."  
  


"Benny, stop staring at me like that!"  
  
Detective Ray Vecchio grimaced at his friend, a tall and naive Mountie, Benton Fraser. Fraser frowned, nay, pouted in a way that toddlers pout when they want something. Fraser was good at doing it but never realized that he was. This is what annoyed Ray.  
  
"I can't look after Anna tonight. Louise is coming over. I can't do it. I won't."  
  
Fraser sat down.  
  
"Ray, I would not ask you if I did not need to. Inspector Thatcher is keeping me at the consulate. It would only be for a couple of hours."  
  
Ray started to whine.  
  
"No. Don't you see, Louise is coming over..." Ray nodded and winked.  
  
"I don't know what you mean."  
  
"Do I have to spell everything out for you? Look, why don't you ask Elaine? I'm sure she'd love to look after the rugrat for a couple of hours."  
  
"I already asked her, Ray, but she has to pick her brother up from the airport." Fraser smiled proudly. "He is coming back from Canada."  
  
Ray grimaced again.  
  
"Oh, yay!" he intoned sarcastically.  
  


Elaine shuffled some papers and put them in her desk neatly. She grabbed her purse and her jacket and made way for the door. She stopped when she saw a mammoth hairy man and a slightly shorter man.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
"Could you wander on that grassy road?"  
  
Elaine was puzzled. The man simply laughed.  
  
"Yeats!" he cried. "He made the world to be a grassy road before her wandering feet. Oh, I do so love Yeats. I was wondering if you could help me, pretty girl like yourself. I'm looking for someone." He pulled a picture from his back pocket. "It's kind of old but it's all I have. Here."  
  
Elaine looked at the picture. She recognized the person in it. Finely chiselled features resting on a tundra summer backdrop. His hair was much more wild and free (and long!) then. Elaine laughed.  
  
"Yeah, I know who you want."  
  
She led the men to Fraser, who was still trying to convince Ray to look after his daughter. Noticing the huge hirsute being standing over him, Fraser stood. Ray remained silent.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
The man grinned.  
  
Hiya, Ben!"  
  
Fraser was perplexed.  
  
"How did you know my name?"  
  
The man threw back his head and laughed.  
  
"You don't recognize me?"  
  
"Ray," Fraser whispered, "bring in the SWAT team, quickly!"  
  
The hairy, dishevelled man stood unapologetically before Fraser.  
  
"It's me! Your Uncle Harry!"  
  
Fraser gawked at him. He scrutinized every wrinkle and hair on the man's face.  
  
"Oh my God," Fraser breathed, "it is you! Uncle Harry... I didn't recognize you with all that hair on your face."  
  
Harry threw back his head and laughed.  
  
"Oh, Benny, my boy, it's good to see you again, too!"  
  
Harry pulled Fraser to him and squeezed him. Fraser turned to Ray.  
  
"Ray, this is Uncle Harry."  
  
Ray stood up slowly and reached his hand out cautiously to the titan.  
  
"Hello, Harry. I'm Ray, Ray Vecchio."  
  
Harry yanked Ray over to him and shook his hand with such force it nearly dislocated his arm. Harry turned to Elaine and kissed her hand. She was deeply smitten.  
  
"And precisely who is this rose of the world?"  
  
"This is Officer Elaine Besbriss," Fraser introduced.  
  
"Well, she looks like a good, fertile woman!" Harry declared as he playfully slapped her belly. He leaned over to whisper something in Fraser's ear. "You should pick her up, Benny. Fertile women these days are hard to find." He reached his hand over to his friend. "This here is my friend Ned, Ned O'Neil. But people just call him Crazy Ned."  
  
Everyone was in a state of alertness.  
  
"Some people call me Crazy Ned as a term of endearment, others because they think I ate a German tourist," Ned laughed as he shook Fraser's hand. Fraser laughed nervously, too, out of politeness, a habit which he resolved to correct in the near future. "That's not true, of course. No, no, he was Swedish."  
  


"So, what brings you here, Uncle Harry?" Fraser asked unaware that his voice had dropped at least five octaves.  
  
"Well, Benton," Harry chuckled, "Ned and myself are here because we have a very large and valuable stash to deliver to a businessman with peculiar tastes. I mean-I'm not sure what one would call peculiar because God knows in this day and age peculiar runs as wide and deep as the Rockies. No, anyway, he flew up with us in northern B.C. -you did know I worked in B.C.? -and he picked out some items, like a Tshimshin shaman outfit, a Balinese bridal dress, a few Haida masks, half of a totem pole. Anyway, he was madder than a tormented muskox that he couldn't bring them over right away -you know, customs restrictions and the weight of the stuff- so he charged us to bring them over for him. Naturally, we have to do some of that oh-so tedious paperwork but you'll nut that out for us, won't you, Benny-boy?"  
  
Harry slapped Fraser on the arm.  
  
"Where are you staying?"  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
"He was so blasted happy that we were coming over that he's loaning us his palatial palace in the suburbs. He's gone for the week-end so we can make ourselves at home. Can you believe it?"  
  
Fraser swallowed a sigh of relief.  
  
"I can't believe it myself, Uncle Harry."  
  
Harry pulled out the box in front of Fraser.  
  
"Guess what I have for you, Benny."  
  
"Oh, God," Fraser tried to hide his apprehension, "what is it?"  
  
"Misty grey memories of the way we were! Gather your friends around," Harry exclaimed as he laid out the contents of the box over Elaine's desk.   
  
Fraser tried to hide his shame as Harry rattled off the items.  
  
"There's little Deputy Mountie Bear, and a beaten-up Millennium Falcon (fastest in the galaxy), a few baby photos-oh, you were the cutest, little bairn-and..oh! Your hair!"  
  
Ray took the long braid of chestnut hair from Harry.  
  
"Wow!" Ray exclaimed as he noogied Fraser. "You were a hippie!"  
  
"These photos of you are so sweet," Elaine cooed as she wriggled her finger across baby Benton with chocolate cake on his face, with a garden hose and in his father's Stetson, a premonitory symbol of what the child was to become.  
  
"Yeah," Ned concurred. "Reminds me of my own nephew, whatever his name is. Oh, he was such a cute, little baby."  
  
"And your favourite toys, Little Soldiers," Harry presented to Fraser a little green man.  
  
Fraser's features softened. The sweet era of childhood had at last touched him. What the teddy bear and the space ship could not do, the Little Soldiers could. Fraser reached his hand out and accepted the toy. He began to play with it, pretending that the little soldier was firing at unseen troops.  
  
"He loved those toys," Harry reminisced, "it's a pity we had to take them away from him."  
  
"Why was that?" Ray asked.  
  
A loud crash followed Ray's query. Ned tried to restrain Fraser as he tried to crush the soldiers to death.  
  
"He used to take things a little too seriously," Harry replied.  
  
The soldiers hidden away and Fraser calm, Harry and Ned prepared to leave.  
  
"Anyway, Benny, we really have to get going. Our stash won't stay in the hangar forever. If you want us, we'll be at 139 Primrose Lane, you'll find the phone number under Gene Wishart. You might have to wait for a while to get an answer. We'll be in the hot tub, you see."  
  
"Hey! Why don't you let Anna stay with Harry overnight, Benny?" Ray suggested.  
  
Fraser silenced the suggestion with a glare. Nevertheless, the fuel had been fed to the fire.  
  
"Anna? Harry quizzed. "Oh, Anna! Your own bairn!" Harry slapped his head in recollection. "Oh, sure! Bring her over. Why I bet she looks just like you, Ben, my boy."  
  
Fraser did not know what to say. If he refused, he would hurt Harry's feelings. If he did not, he may very well never see Anna again.  
  
"Oh, come on," Ray cajoled, "he's family."  
  
"I'll tell ya what, Ben," Harry offered, "if Anna agrees to come with me, I'll take her in. How about that?"  
  
"Nothing hurts until you try it, my old auntie used to say," Ned offered, "she never went sky-diving after that."  
  
Ned's words were far from comforting. But Fraser, wordless and powerless, agreed under duress. Or rather, it was agreed for him.  
  
"Come on," Harry swung his arm around his nephew, "We'll drive to your place. Mr. Wishart let us use his car."  
  
Ray smiled. He felt truly warm inside.  
  
"That man is the closest thing to John Candy I have seen in the longest time," he remarked to Elaine.  
  


Harry and Ned trudged into Fraser's apartment. Mrs. Miller had fallen asleep on the couch, a river of drool ebbed only by a cushion. Anna coloured aimlessly in her colouring book. Fraser picked her up.  
  
"Anna, dear, why aren't you in bed?" he asked.  
  
The girl rubbed her blue eyes.  
  
"I can't sleep," she admitted in a small voice, "I keep having terrible dreams."  
  


Fraser hugged his daughter and stroked her black silken hair.  
  
"Anna, this your uncle, Harry," Fraser introduced, "he flew in from British Columbia."  
  


"Just to see me?" she asked.  
  
"Of course I did!" Harry exclaimed. He swung the girl from Fraser's embrace. "Anna, your uncle Ned and myself would like it very much if you spent the night with us. Why, we could tell ghost stories and watch educational movies, like..uh...Planet of the Apes."  
  
"Is that with Jane Goodall?" Ned asked.  
  
"I think so," Harry replied.  
  
Anna screamed with excitement.  
  
"I want to stay over with Uncle Harry! I want to stay over with Uncle Harry!"  
  
Fraser could not separate Anna from Harry. Again, it had been decided for him that Anna would stay over with Uncle Harry. Worry clung to Fraser's heart like a man-of-war.  
  
"I would like her to be in bed by eight," Fraser requested.  
  
"Relax," Harry consoled Fraser, "and you can pick her up tomorrow."  
  
Anna's hug on Harry intensified, as did Fraser's never-ending sense of worry.  
  


It was three in the morning. Thunder beat the earth with its mighty, unseen hand and the rain that came with it tickled the grass as if to soothe it. Fraser tossed and turned. The maverick uncle, he felt, had done a makeshift of job of child care. But blocks and blocks away, Anna slept soundly as another round of thunder belted the city.  
  


Fraser and Ray arrived at Gene Wishart's house early in the morning. The lingering threat of summer rain had kept a navy rain cloud over the city. Condensation rose from the manicured lawn.   
  
"I still don't see why we have to pick Anna up so early," Ray complained.  
  
Fraser hushed him and rung the doorbell. Harry, in a silk nightgown and sipping coffee, answered the door.  
  
"Hi, Benny!"  
  
"Is Anna ready?"  
  
Harry frowned profoundly.  
  
"Why Benny, it's only 7:30 in the AM. She's barely awake. I'll look after her for the rest of the day. I'll give a nice and healthy breakfast to start."  
  
Fraser shook his head.  
  
"Well, alright," he sorely conceded. "But you'll have to wait. Ah! I know just the thing."  
  
Harry walked outside and rubbed his finger along the side of a shiny red Jaguar XJ6 Sovereign. Ray gasped and knelt on one knee before the automotive Excalibur.  
  
"Pretty car," Ray remarked.  
  
"Something to tell your grandkids, eh, Ray?" Harry surmised. He whispered to Ray. "As the great poet says: when you are old and grey and full of sleep...you'll wake yourself up when you remember 4.2 L six-engine 3-speed automatic beauty of an automobile."  
  
"I will never, ever forget it," Ray breathed.  
  
"I'll tell ya what," Harry offered, "why don't you take a spin around the block in this baby. Mr. Wishart let us use it. About the time you get back, your Anna will be up and ready to go."  
  
"Uncle Harry," Fraser tried to protest but was silenced.  
  
Ray and Diefenbaker needed no further encouragement. Hopping into the car, they coaxed the reluctant Fraser in as well. Harry waved as Ray pulled out of the driveway. Ray drove slowly, as if to build up to something bigger.  
  
"I want to see this baby go from 0 to 60 miles in 5 seconds," Ray said as he punched the gas.   
  
"Ray, I don't know if that is wise in a residential area," Fraser protested.  
  
The Mountie doth protest too much. And too late.  
  
Ray accelerated the vehicle bit by bit. Soon, the Jaguar had a mind of its own and glided into Mach warp. The very barriers of light became as mere colourful streaks in the background.  
  
  
  
Diefenbaker's eye widened. In the wolf's pupil, a fetal puppy floated peacefully, ominously in a sac.  
  


As the Jaguar sped on, Ray remembered Harry's words: When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look, Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep...  
  
Ray walked into the darkened room. Only a fire roared quietly. The wizened, old Ray gazed up at this long, forgotten intruder. Putting down his red journal, he looked at the younger mirror self.  
  
"Did you bring me my sausage?" the old Ray asked.  
  
"I'm outta here," the young Ray commented and left the room.  
  


The world was grey. And a sunless beach. Fraser gripped his Stetson and wondered where he was. Body after body of scrawny blond women uttered one word to him.  
  
Obsession.  
  
"Ray, I want out!" Fraser cried desperately.  
  
The car stopped in the driveway. Ray had not remembered the actual journey but remembered the strange vision he had.  
  
"What did ya think?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh my God," Ray gasped, "it's full of stars."  
  
"I thought you'd like it."  
  
Harry put his great arm around Anna.  
  
"She's ready."  
  
Anna turned and clung to Harry.  
  
"Please Daddy!" she pleaded. "Can't I just stay for breakfast? Please?!"  
  


Ray and Diefenbaker looked down on Fraser. Grimacing, Fraser gave his consent.  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
"I'll bring her around lunch time," he called out as Ray pulled out in his less-than-majesterial Riviera.  
  
"God, I love Uncle Harry!" he exclaimed.  
  


Fraser applied his signature on the last of the reports and shuffled them to place on Thatcher's desk. Inspector Margaret Thatcher was bent over a busted, old fan, slapping it this way and that trying to get it to work.  
  


"Dammit!" she exclaimed. "First, the air-conditioning system goes down, then the AC repairmen won't show up and now this bloody thing won't work."  
  
Fraser smiled slightly. He nudged the fan to a central position, fiddled with a few wires and clicked a switch in the back . In seconds, the fan breathed cool air onto Thatcher's face. She smiled serenely.  
  
"Thank you, Constable. You're a life-saver."  
  
"Don't mention it," he smiled politely back.  
  
Turnbull charged into the office worriedly, an expression not uncommon for this slight, young man.  
  
"The sasquatch..." he gasped out of breath. "He's here."  
  
Fraser and Thatcher wondered if the poor, young man had finally lost his senses.  
  
"Turnbull," Thatcher said with a finality, "the sasquatch doesn't exist."  
  
"He does!" Turnbull declared. "And he has a little girl with him."  
  
Fraser immediately knew of whom Turnbull was speaking. He left the main office. Harry carried Anna on his shoulders. Ned carried a tray with him.  
  
"Hiya, Ben!"  
  
"Hello, Uncle Harry. What are you doing here?"  
  
"Well, remember that stash we brought in? Just a few papers and things to flip through and away we go. Anyway, I promised I'd return Anna to you. Here she is, safe and sound."  
  
Fraser lifted Anna from Harry's massive arms. Ned walked up to Fraser.  
  
"Would you like a Swedish meatball?" he asked.  
Fraser stared at the tray in horror. He remembered what Ned had told everyone last evening. He was Swedish...He was Swedish... Fraser's glance shifted to the newspaper on Turnbull's desk- Swedish National Goes Missing. Fear and dread paralyzed him.  
"This lady made them for me," Ned explained. A short blonde woman with a bandage on her head came forward. "This is Ingerud Jansson, she works at the Swedish embassy, I think. Last evening I was walking around looking for scrap metal because-well, hey!-what else do you do in a big city? Go out and look for scrap metal, right? So there I was searching for scrap metal and I see these guys rough up Ingerud here, only I didn't know her name was Ingerud, though, and I walk up and say: 'hey! What are ya doing?!' and then they take off. They left poor Ingerud with a big cut on her head and without her money. She starts babbling in Swedish-I knew it was Swedish right away, of course-and I took her home with me. Well, she was so grateful that she made me some Swedish meatballs. Can you believe it?"  
"He saved my life," Ingerud added, "it was the very least I could do."  
"I tell ya, Benny," Harry mourned, "some people nowadays have absolutely no respect for women at all."  
Fraser introduced Harry to Thatcher.  
"Peggy!" Harry cried much to Fraser's humiliation, "What's shakin', Bacon?!" With that, he slapped Thatcher firmly but playfully on the butt. "My, the secretaries get prettier and prettier."  
"Harry," Fraser said sotto voce, "she is an inspector and my boss."  
"Sure," Harry winked.  
"Fraser," Thatcher rasped through clenched teeth, "who is this man?"  
"Inspector, this is Harold Fraser, my uncle from out of town, who is not visiting long and this is his business associate, Ned O'Neil. They are here to sort out some forms."  
"Authorize whatever the hell they want and get them out of here," she ordered.  
"Hey, Magster," Ned asked, "could we get some coffee?"  
Grudgingly, thinking that they would go away if she did, Thatcher fetched coffee for the visitors. Ned and Ingerud wandered off into the unexplored annals of the consulate.  
Harry pulled a large folder with cluttered papers from his jacket.   
"These are merely some things we have to sign or something," Harry explained.  
He dropped the folder onto Fraser's desk. Fraser tried to pick out the necessary papers from the accordion-shaped clutter. A light pink envelope edged from bent, crisp white paper. Anna picked it up and waved it.  
"Uncle Harry! What is this?"  
Harry snatched the envelope from her. Fraser looked surprised. For the first time ever, he had seen his uncle in a near state of mortification. Harry tried to retain his cool.  
"Now, now, Anna. These are my papers, you see and, uh. well, mitts off, huh?"  
Harry replaced the envelope in the folds of his jacket and no more was said of it. Still, Fraser looked concerned on his uncle. The revelation of that envelope sent Harry into a tailspin of emotions. Fraser knew him for only two- happiness and extreme elation.   
Thatcher arrived with the coffees.  


"Here," she thrust the tray of hot beverages onto Harry and made her way back to her desk. Glancing out her window she saw a trademark black BMW.  
"Oh dear God!" she cried.  
Fraser was alerted to her distress.  
"Hide! Everyone hide!" She pulled Fraser's Sam Browne belt. "Forbes is here."  
Chief Inspector Alexander J. Forbes, the supreme lord of the dark forces, had made his way up the stairs and into the main office. Thatcher tried to neaten her appearance but as it was so hot and humid she felt and looked sticky. Constable Robert Forbes followed the taller man into the office.  
"Inspector Thatcher?" he bellowed.  
Thatcher quaked slightly.  
"Yes, sir?"  
"Two questions-one, why are you unkempt?; secondly, who is this man?"  
Thatcher swallowed an obstruction.  
"Well, sir, the air conditioning system is in ill-repair and, because it is so hot, I took to dressing down- which will never happen again, I assure you. And he is..."  
"Harry! Harry Fraser! Benny's uncle, you see!" Harry cried out to the nonplussed Forbes.   
"How very good for you," Forbes uttered. He observed the man. He was like an unkempt Santa Claus, long chestnut hair, bushy beard, rosy cheeks. He was even the same statuesque height as himself. "What is your business here, Mr. Fraser?"  
"I'm here simply to nut out a few forms," Harry expounded, "brought in a shipload of cargo from British Columbia."  
"Fascinating." Forbes turned to Thatcher. "I have here a guestlist for this evening's charity event. Make the appropriate arrangements."  
"John Ash is coming here?" she asked incredulously.  
"Yes."  
"Oh, how good."  
"Who's John Ash?" Harry popped in.  
Forbes glared at the genial man as if wipe the scourge of ignorance clean from his mind.  
"A very wealthy expatriate who, out of whatever generosity has withered in his soul, wants to throw a benefit gala for orphans."  
"Oh, great!" Harry cried and threw his head back to laugh. "Whenever I think of the horror of the world, it's reassuring to know that somebody out there cares for the little guy."  
"How insightful," Forbes intoned in his frightening breath.  
"Yes, everything should be ready by this evening," Thatcher promised. "Allow me to walk you to your Death Star...I mean, car, car...that's it, car."  
"No thank you, Inspector. I will see you this evening."  
Forbes walked away from Harry but first casting him a curious glance. His countenance fell on Anna who, for odd reasons, remained quiet.  
"Hello, Anna."  
Anna smiled in return.  
He made his way downstairs and into the ominous black BMW. Only Robert stayed behind. He pulled at his collar and wiped the sweat from his lip.  
"This is the first place I've been to that wasn't air-conditioned. I don't envy you your positions."  
Robert turned to leave.  
"Oh, and Sergeant Cole will be here shortly with his granddaughter. They're out getting an ice cream or something like that."  
Harry noticed a small piece of tartan fabric sticking out of Robert's pocket. He reached for it. Robert pulled back and tried to retrieve it from Harry's firm grasp.  
"Oh, please give it back. If Alex realizes that it's missing, he'll kill me."  
"I recognize this stitching anywhere," Harry stroked the delicate needlework F. He presented the fabric to Fraser. "Don't you have a baby blanket like this, Benny? The one that your mother made you?"  
Fraser took the fabric from Harry. He smiled slightly.  
"I remember that I had one like this but I have no idea where it is now."  
Thatcher grabbed the fabric and handed it back to Robert.  
"Better that way. Take this away, Constable Forbes, and off you go. You're dismissed. Move it."  
Forbes saluted Thatcher weakly and left the consulate.  
"Funny how he should have a blanket similar to Carol's," Harry muttered to himself.  
"What was that Uncle Harry?"  
Harry observed his nephew. The look of naive inquisitiveness on his face softened him.  
"Nothing."  
A reedy, white-haired man came up the stairs with a little girl in blond pig-tails. He carried a covered cage with him.  
"Sergeant Cole!" Thatcher saluted him.  
"At ease, Inspector," he smiled, "merely taking the granddaughter around the big city and I thought I should leave this here. The hotel won't allow him in."  
He lifted the cover only to reveal a soft, brown bunny rabbit. Thatcher's face turned pale. Immediately, the cute, cuddly creature became a symbol of terror. She plugged her ears to the deafening shrieks and raging blood and foam in her head. Everyone else esteemed the creature. Even Diefenbaker seemed touched by its cuteness.   
"What's the bunny's name?" Anna asked.  
"Grover," the blond girl answered.  
Immediately, the little blond girl, Melissa, and Anna became fast friends sharing an avid interest in the rabbit. They took the rabbit to another room and began to play with it. Sergeant Cole turned his attention from his granddaughter to Thatcher.  
"I leave tomorrow. I'll pick the rabbit up before I go to the airport."  


He summoned Melissa and left the consulate.  
"I suppose we must get to the preparations," Fraser suggested.  
Thatcher was perched anxiously on her chair, inspecting the floor for any fluffy creatures of the lagomorph variety.  
"Sir, are you alright?"  
"I'm fine, Constable. I do not have an inordinate fear of rabbits whatsoever. I am secure in my identity." She swallowed. "How high do rabbits jump?"  
Fraser could see that she was the opposite of what she claimed.  
"Inspector, if I may impose, rabbits pose no threat to the immediate populace. Quite unlike the extremely vicious rabbit as seen in Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail, rabbits are rather gentle, skittish creatures."  
"That's a lie! They eat faces like the rabbits in Watership Down. They are eerie and conniving."  
Fraser did not know what to say. He never knew someone would actually take that movie seriously. Harry, on the other hand, did what he normally did- he laughed out loud.  
"Peggy, bunnies are harmless and innocent."  
Thatcher scowled at the man. He did not notice. Shrugging simply, he left the office, leaving Fraser to calm the woman down.  
  
Harry sat back on the armchair in Gene Wishart's house. He closed his eyes and sipped lemonade. He reached for the soft-pink envelope. It had never been opened. The signature on it was written in red. Soft, sweeping strokes of the pen, a red pen, red like the lips that once kissed his forehead gently...  
"For these red lips, with all their mournful pride..."  
He held the envelope close to him as though nothing in the world could coax him to let it go. He extended his hand to his backpack on the couch near him and pulled out a small tartan blanket. He squinted to see the tiny orange B in the corner. B for Benny, he thought. He tossed it back awkwardly.  
"Hey, Harry!"  
Harry looked up. Ned was preparing himself for the charity event at the consulate.  
"Ya ready to help the orphans, big fella."  
Harry lifted himself up and began to prepare for the big event.  
  
Forbes sipped his glass of water slowly and waited for Robert to finish getting ready. The young man was entirely opposite to himself. How could they possibly be related, he thought to himself. Robert was enthusiastic about everything and had such a vigour for life and everyone in it. Even when they were children, Robert would sit by him and tugged on his shirt encouraging him to read out his homework. He followed him around with obedience and admiration of a puppy dog. Forbes rarely indulged himself in such thoughts but allowed himself to this once. That strange Harry fellow had a profound effect on him. There was something about the man that was straight-forward but he could not think of what it was. He looked at his watch.  
"Aren't you ready yet?"  
Robert presented himself to Forbes.  
"All ready, Alex."  
"Don't call me Alex, Robert," he scolded indifferently. Forbes straightened out his younger brother's buttons and smoothed out the epaulets.  
"Now you are ready."  
  
Anna looked deliciously charming in her green velvet dress. She fiddled with her hair. This evening she did not feel deliciously charming or even smart-alecky cute. She felt downright dorky.  
"Daddy, I look like a dork!"  
Fraser bent his head over the backseat and scowled at the enfant terrible.  
"Anna, you look fine and I don't want to hear anything more from you this evening. Is that understood?"  
Anna sullenly crossed her arms and sulked. Ray observed her through the rearview mirror.  
"Anna, I think you look cute in that pretty green dress."  
Anna ignored him, too enraged to give him answer.  
"Anna is being absolutely impossible this evening, Ray," Fraser explained.  
"Oh, yeah?! Well at least I know the true essence of James Joyce's works!" she shot back.  
Fraser shifted around.  
"You haven't the faintest idea of the underlying theme of The Dead and you know it!"  
Ray felt uncomfortable being trapped amid these family squalls. He pulled up to the consulate.  
"We're here."  
Climbing out of the Riv, Fraser and Anna went to the upper floor to his desk. Ray snuck into the banquet room, unannounced and uninvited. Louise decided she had a headache and allergies this evening leaving Ray all dressed up with nowhere to go. He hated the alternation between women. There were three women central in his life, all of whom gave him the shuffle leaving his soul in strips. He could lie to himself and pretend that the emotional butchering meant nothing to him but that lie would not stand for long. He was extremely sensitive to the pain. Weedling his way quietly in, his olive eyes encountered a pair of black patent pumps. Elaine, in an enticing fitted black and white strapped dress, gazed at Ray. Her hair was pinned up. She looked very different from her workaday uniform.  
"I did not expect to find you here, Ray," she said softly trying to keep her composure.  
"You're here for the same reason I'm here," Ray put plainly, "to swipe the leftover smoked salmon, drink some Canadian beer and maybe give a few bucks to the orphans."  


Elaine knew he was right and did not deny it.  
"How come we're never invited to things like this?"  
"No clue, Elaine. Maybe they don't want us to drink their beer."  


Thatcher was jittery. She scuttled around her desk in search of something. Fraser and Anna stood aloof. In a sudden rage, Thatcher may very well cause them harm. Thatcher finally noticed the distressed family.  
"Oh, Constable. It's you. Anna. Good to see you."  
"Inspector, are you alright?"  
"I'm fine, fine, happy, happy. Secure in my identity. Oh, yes. I'm in my happy place."  
Not wanting to pursue the matter further, Fraser took a copy of the guestlist from his desk drawer. Thatcher drew the roving Anna to her and started to put her silken jet hair in braids.  
"Your hair, my dear, is such a mess," Thatcher remarked.  
Fraser smiled quietly to himself. He could see, after so many months of hostility, they had put the ugliness of the Balloon Incident behind them.  
"Yes, my hair used to be liked your's," Thatcher waxed nostalgic, "always all over the place. Yes, it was never right for my mother. Nothing was ever right for her. Oh no. They had to be plastic..."  
Thatcher raised her fists to the sky and shouted at the unseen gods of misfortune.  
"Dammit, Maggie! These are wire coat-hangers!"  
Thatcher looked around the office. Having terrorized the Frasers thoroughly, she hung her head.  
"I've done it again."   


Anna crossed her hands and waited patiently with Diefenbaker at the reception table. Slowly, various wealthy and affluent people piled in, chatting about this or that, gliding their hands precariously over the forbidden jar of jellybeans. Anna scratched the ruff of Diefenbaker's neck.  
"Don't eat the jellybeans, Dief. They're not your's."  
Forbes strode by the table. His stern look softened to an amiable glance when he saw Anna.  
"Guarding the jelly beans, I see?"  
This joviality was foreign to him and he was not sure if he did it right. Still, Anna smiled and turned slightly pink. He pat her on the head and made his way into the crowd.  
John Ash was in the centre, grimly conversing with his associates, warmly greeting the participants of the benefit, then turning around to scoff at them.  
"Jeez, these people make me want to ralph," he lit the cigarette in his mouth, "you never now how much they've had to drink before they came here. Stupid sods."  
The young man brushed his wavy brown hair from his eyes and moved away to chat more than amiably with a voluptuous redhead.  
  
The banquet room was nearly full. Turnbull found it difficult to dance with the young lady he was with. Melissa Cole, resplendid in a red dress tied in the back with a big bow, tried to keep up with her larger dance partner's steps. She laughed at the effort, realizing that his big feet moved too fast for her. They guiltily bumped into the benefit's patrons who took their follies in good humour. Melissa brushed against John, spilling his martini all over his tux.  
"Dammit! Watch it, kid!"  
Turnbull scowled at him.  
"Hey! You can't talk to a little girl that way!"  
"I just did, Dudley," John snapped, "now get lost."  
Angered, Turnbull placed his hand on Melissa's shoulder and walked her to the punch table.  
"That John Ash guy is a jerk!" he remarked to Robert who was refilling his punch-mug.  
"Really," Robert inquired, "I thought he was a CEO."  
"I'm not trying to be funny, Bob."  
Robert offered him some cheese and crackers.  
"Neither am I. Just one evening and we never have to see him again."  


Anna scribbled her name on a name-badge with precision. Erstwhile, Diefenbaker helped himself to the jellybeans. Thatcher came up to the table and wrote her name down on a badge. She mingled into the crowd tensely, swivelling her head back to see if anyone was following her. Her hands took on a wringing quality. Elaine spied her. She seemed pale. For some reason, Elaine thought she would actually show concern for Thatcher.  
"Inspector Thatcher, are you alright?"  
Thatcher spun over and stared like a doe before an eighteen-wheeler at Elaine.  
"I'm fine, dandy, I'm in my happy-place."  
Elaine nodded confusedly. She noticed that Thatcher's namebadge read: HELLO, MY NAME IS CROWN PRINCESS ANASTASIA.  
"Oh, cool!" Elaine brightened. "I'll write on my badge, EMMA PEEL."  
Elaine ran to the table and changed her namebadge.  


Fraser stood by idly. His punch had gone tepid. Crowds of people had piled their way into the banquet room and created a chatter that echoed in his head. He did not like crowds. Veering away quietly to the south wing, he contemplated the day he had and thanked God it was nearly over. He would go home this evening and rest despite the humidity. His blue eyes, closed to slits, popped open when he saw a curious-looking threesome enter the banquet room.  
"Oh God," Fraser gasped.  
Ned ambled in, dressed in a baby-blue tuxedo straight from a 1970's wedding ceremony, with Ingerud at his side. At least she was dressed in a tasteful navy blue gown adorned with glass beads. Harry, however, was the crowning achievement in this parade. His beard had been trimmed and his hair slicked back. He wore a black tuxedo with a vest and bow-tie in the Clan Fraser tartan. Something in that orange-blue-green tartan of that proud family screamed out no! to Fraser. The time for damage control had begun.  


Ned and Ingerud sauntered to the dance floor arm-in-arm.  
"Great party, Ben!" Ned exclaimed and started to foxtrot with Ingerud.  
Fraser patted Harry on the shoulder.  
"My God, Uncle Harry, what are you doing here?"  
Harry gazed proudly at his nephew. He swayed him by the shoulders.  
"You look so good in that red serge, my boy. It almost brings a tear to my eye."  
"You still haven't answered me, Harry. What are you doing here?"  
Harry, dumbfounded, grinned heartily.  
"You silly muffin, I'm here to support the orphans. I now have more than I need, the least I can do is give, give, give. Now where are those little buggers?"  
Fraser shook his head.  
"Please, Uncle Harry. Try to behave yourself. This isn't Rat River or the Klondike Trail. There is a certain amount of decorum that you must observe. People, especially these people, don't like raucous laughter or belching contests. Do you understand?"  
Harry, downcast, let his eyes rest upon his nephew. Fraser thought that maybe he had hurt him. Instead, Harry, almost bursting with tears of joy, planted a big, wet kiss on Fraser's forehead and embraced him.  
"You're always looking after me, Benny." In a slightly louder voice and tighter hug, Harry let his feelings be known. "I love you so much, my boy!"  
"Get a room, you two," John drunkenly called out, which caused Fraser to frown on him.  


Ray glared with passion and intensity.  
"Dance with me!" he commanded. "Dance with me! I want what is mine!"  
Thatcher tried to ignore the tempestuous Italian.  
"No," she uttered and walked away.  
Ray, distraught, whined after her.  
"Aw, come on. I don't want to look like a schnook and stand in the corner. Just dance with me, please?"  


Ned and Ingerud danced together, cheek-to-cheek.  
"You are such a wonderful dancer," Ingerud commented, "where did you learn?"  
"Some sweaty Indian fella taught me in Swift Current."  
Ingerud laughed.  
"Oh, Ned, you make me laugh."  
Still cheek-to-cheek, they let the music sway them and the crowd swallow them.  


John ordered another gin and tonic. The woman across from him could see that he would be drunk before the night was through. Taking the libation from him, she scowled which did not phase him in the slightest.  
"Janice," he addressed the angry brunette, "I didn't expect to see you here."  
"Before you're completely sotted, John, I must warn you that tomorrow is the deadline. We sell to Krauzman or I'm out."  
John grabbed the drink from her and thrust it down on the table.  
"Don't discuss this here, Janice. I told once and this is the last time I'm telling you, it is my company and I won't give it up."  
"But we're going under!" she pointed out. "I say abandon ship now, or we'll have nothing left."  
John gripped his stomach. His irritation toward the woman intensified.  
"I'm not giving it up. Leave me alone."  
He turned his back on her. Janice could hardly contain her fury. Grabbing her purse, she fled outside for some fresh air.  


Diefenbaker feasted on the jellybeans. Their sweet, gelatinous goodness was too much for him to resist. Before Anna could finally stop him, it was too late. She stared at the bottom of the empty jar in disbelief. Not one of them survived the wolf's appetite.  


Mr. and Mrs. Krauzman had decided to mix business with pleasure this evening. The middle-aged German couple had often visited America but rarely had the opportunity to unwind. Here they would support a good cause whilst a deal would be edged out in its finality. They danced to the foxtrot with enthusiasm, occasionally brushing against the irritable and disinterested Forbes. He did not like dancing and made no secret of it. Whenever Mrs. Krauzman bumped into him, the bright pink tassels on her dress would get caught on the buttons of his tunic and many unpleasant minutes were spent trying to extricate himself from her. As a result, he did his own two-step shuffle just to avoid her.  


Fraser, embarrassed, pulled himself from Harry. Elaine clattered over to Harry. She was more than pleased to see him.  
"Harry!" she cried. "You look great."  
"Not as great as you, Elaine," Harry kissed the smitten Elaine's hand.  
"You know what this party needs," Harry remarked, "a tango!"  
Fraser, caught between the irrevocable consequences of freewheeling Harry's actions and trampling all over the jovial giant, gaped at the eager couple. Harry approached the band and asked them to play tango music. The instantaneous stirring of violin strings drew Elaine and Harry into a sensuous world in which they entwined their bodies to move as one. Harry was really good.  
Ray and Robert caught a glimpse of them from the punch bowl.   
"They're doing the tango," Ray noticed.  
"Notice the way they hold on to one another," Robert remarked, "they seem almost to be glued to one another. There is no nervous energy such as you see with the other couples here."  
"I see that too, Bob," Ray joined, "they move together. They are one."  


Elaine grasped a rose from a table and clasped it with her teeth. A thorn was cleft in her lip.  
"Allow me to get it out," Harry offered quietly and edged his mouth to her's to tenderly remove the offending thorn.  
"They're doing that steamy near-kiss thing," Ray gasped.  
Robert swooned and Ray caught him.  
"That's alright, Bob. Let me rock you."  
Elaine and Harry sashayed across the dance floor, their eyes never breaking from one another. Their hands gripped the other's intensely. Whirling once with Elaine's leg in Harry's arm, they paused dramatically. Harry dipped Elaine over to the side, arching her back appealingly and pulling her back up mere millimetres from his face.  
"I felt that dip was almost..." Ray pondered, "I can't say it, there may be kids around."  
"I certainly know what you mean, Ray," Robert concurred, "the form was definitely enticing."  
Harry threw Elaine from his person.  
"I think they are preparing for the triple-twirl, Ray. There is a lot riding on this."  
"I think Elaine can pull this off, Bob," Ray added, "she's worked with well before up to this point and this will be no exception. Everything will ride on her but I believe she can pull through."  
Harry pulled her back. Elaine twirled three times and landed in his arms. Ray and Robert were aghast and pleased at the same time. As the tango drew to a close, Harry paused and Elaine, in passive carnality, slid to the floor at Harry's feet.  
"Well, there we have it!" Ray proclaimed. "I'd like to give a perfect ten but I felt that Harry's giant size put me off just a tad. I'll have to give them a nine-point-five."  
"I'll go all the way with a ten, Ray," Robert disagreed with him."  
  
Elaine waltzed over to a sullen Fraser.  
"What's the matter with you?"  
"Nothing," he lied, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.  
"You don't like it when I do anything with someone else, do you?"  
Fraser was scandalized.  
"That is not true. I mere wish to make the point that you encouraging him to indulge in buffoonery. That's all."  
Elaine shook her head.  
"Filling balloons with water and shooting them across the street in a gigantic slingshot is buffoonery. The tango is sensuous." She turned to leave. "You should try it sometime."  
Fraser was whipped and he knew it.  


The tango was over. Mrs. Krauzman, still with her arm around her husband's neck, laughed in a throaty Teutonic way. She appeared jovial when she encountered a hairy Canadian in a blue tuxedo and his Swedish friend. He was very interested to hear that she was German.   
Mr. Krauzman gripped John by the shoulder. The half-sloshed man spun around and glared at him.  
"What do you want?"  
"I want an answer," Mr. Krauzman replied. "I have been waiting for three months. Is my offer not generous enough?"  
"I'd rather yank my own teeth out than do business with you, old man!" John snapped.  
Mr. Krauzman pulled his fist back ready to strike John but John blocked his hand and punched him. Mr. Krauzman flew back onto the hor d'ouvres table. A series of disturbed yelps and gasps escaped the guests. Mrs. Krauzman ran to her fallen husband. She wailed incessantly and unnecessarily. Forbes knelt down by the distraught woman.  
"Someone get a doctor!" she cried.  
"I am a doctor," Forbes declared.  
"No! You stay away from him!"  
Forbes lost his patience with her.  
"Shut up, you ugly..."  
"WAIT!"  
Amid the catterwhalling and the confusion, a white-coated waiter held a silver tray in his shaky hands. He lifted up the top. Grover, the sweet, furry rabbit, lay garnished with leaves of spinach and a small crab apple stuffed in his mouth. Sergeant Cole and Melissa were in a state worse than shock.  
"Oh my God!" Cole cried.  
Melissa shrieked, Anna gasped and Turnbull could not be consoled. Thatcher, as though struck by an axe, held her breath and clung onto a kerchief tightly. As she wrung it, skin broke and blood escaped from her palms. Ray and Fraser, who have tried to keep some order in the mess, saw Thatcher's pale, frightened face. Something, indeed, was afoot.  
"Inspector Thatcher, do you know why that rabbit is dead?" Fraser inquired.  
Thatcher nodded.  
"You killed it, didn't you?" Ray surmised.  
"I didn't mean to," she confessed, "it must have gotten out of the cage. I saw it eating the coleslaw in the kitchen. I meant to just brush it away with the broom, instead I snapped its neck."  
Ray and Fraser frowned in sincere pity over the wretched woman.  
"I'll lose my job," she complained in a small voice, "the children already hate me. I don't have a prayer."  
"You can say that again!" Ray huffed.  
Fraser boxed him in the arm to be quiet.  
"I am sure if we explain everything to Sergeant Cole, things will blow over as quickly as they started."  
"If and when I find that evil, sadistic rabbit-murderer," Cole vowed, "I'll hang whoever it was by their eyelashes."  
It was then clear that Fraser's plan could not work. Harry stepped forward.  


"Now, now," Harry began, "there is no need to fly off the handle. What we have here is the death of innocent Fluffy, or Mopsy, or Cottontail, or whatever his name was, it doesn't matter. He was a sweet, good, kindly, God-fearing rabbit who loved his master the way no other rabbit could ever love his master."  
Harry paused emphatically.  
"But his time with us was short. Yes, it was time for our little furry friend to enter Rabbit Valhalla, isn't that right, Ingerud?"  
The Swede nervously spoke in Harry's defence.  
"Yes, he was an honourable rabbit and he will feast with the other rabbit warriors in Rabbit Valhalla."  
Harry picked up the tray and told Ned to place it in the fountain out back.  
"Our friend rabbit must be set aloft lo he may reach the heavens and wrinkle his nose freely in the vast carrot fields of Valhalla. And did not Our Lord say in the garden of Eden, "Yea, though the rabbit be fluffy of tail and wrinkly of nose, his time on Earth shall be short"?"  
Fraser did not remember reading that passage in the Bible.  
"That's sounds like something He might have said," Harry apologized.  
John threw up his hands.  
"He was a rabbit, a bloody rabbit!"  
Harry looked benignly on the nonbeliever.  
"Was he? Was he really?"  
Harry placed his hands on Cole and Melissa's shoulders.  
"Do not weep for your dear rabbit. Don't dwell on his death but remember how he enriched your lives."  
Cole and Melissa, consoled, resigned themselves to Harry's advice. Cole took his granddaughter by the hand and lead her outside for some fresh air. Harry instructed Elaine to give the tearful Turnbull a shot of Scotch but she felt her bottle of Prozac would be much more useful. She took him to the lounge room to compose himself. Thatcher remained still and solitary. Harry cast his glance on her.  
"I would like to say, Mr. Fraser," she began proudly. "Thank you, Harry," she said softly and humbly.  
Harry tapped her on the shoulder tenderly.  
"Think nothing of it, Margaret."  
Harry walked from her. Thatcher regained her strength, the burden of guilt made light and washed away by Harry's touching absolution.  
Harry grasped John by the arm.  
"I'll take Mr. Ash here for some java."  
Forbes glowered at the unorthodox man.  
"Do you know what really happened to that rabbit?"  
"Naah!" Harry exhaled. "I'll take Ash here to get wired."  
"Don't give him coffee!" Forbes cried out. "Give him water instead."  
It appeared that Harry ignored him. Lifting Mr. Krauzman to his knees, Forbes, irritated and impatient, started to treat him.  


John struggled with Harry.  
"Go away from me!" he ordered. "I don't know where you've been."  
Harry laughed.  
"Time for some java," Harry proclaimed and poured John a cup in the kitchen.  
John tried to drink and flinched at every gulp of his beverage.  
"Not feeling so well, are ya there?" Harry asked.  
"What's it too you?" John sniped.  
"Nothing, I suppose," Harry replied. He whispered furtively to John. "It may very well be the pate."  
John tried to ignore the jocund pilot. He lifted a cigarette from his cigarette case and lit it.  
"Those things'll kill ya," Harry offered.  
"What the hell do you care?"   
John was angry. Harry could see that. Nothing he said could pacify him.  
"I'm simply passing on the word."  
"Well, I'm sick of you snotty do-gooders 'passing on the word'. That's all you do. You run around pretending you care about some poor little orphan in Africa but you won't get your stinking hands dirty or maybe you even do care but like the world has asked you to scratch its back. I'm sick of people like you and your do-good nephew trying to change the world...."  
Harry cut him off.  
"Now I won't hear anything about that boy," he tried to constrain his anger. "He's always been a good boy. And you, why, you're nothing more than a selfish, cynical yuppy who gets his jollies by attacking truly good people...."  
"You don't like my attitude, Harry," John assailed him, "why don't you kiss my..."  
Harry punched John. The young man flew back. Harry left John on the floor to wipe away the blood from his nose. Shaking with the aftereffects of fury, Harry walked from the kitchen and away from the banquet room to regain his self-control. He did not remember the last time he had hit someone like that. Or did not want to remember.  


Things had finally settled down. The benefit started to look and feel like a benefit. Anna lolled about through the quiet murmur of the crowd. Diefenbaker stayed behind nursing a sore stomach. That many jellybeans could not be good for you. She strode up to her father and whispered that Diefenbaker was ill. She was quite familiar with his reaction, one of impatience and intolerance. That wolf was the living end. If he wasn't enticing supermodels into the drab Racine apartment, he was scoffing donuts from someone. Instructed to give the wolf some water, she left for the kitchen.   
Fraser began talking to Forbes. The conversation had nothing in it that would make it interesting, Ray thought. He sipped his punch listlessly. Harry the friendly giant had reentered the banquet room and joined Ray at his side. He muttered something about a lost envelope. Ray had come to the conclusion long ago that Canadians never made any sense so he did not entirely listen to what Harry had to say.  


Anna had Diefenbaker by the collar. She led the ill wolf into the kitchen for some water.  
"I don't want to get in trouble, Dief," she scolded, "you're the one who ate all the jellybeans."  
Anna stopped suddenly. A man in a tuxedo lay prostrate on the floor. She quietly neared him, trying not to touch him. At the back of his head, blood had congealed. Anna ran from the kitchen to Fraser.  
"Daddy!" she tugged on his trousers.  
Fraser ignored her.  
"Daddy!" she tugged again.  
Fraser asked her to go away.  
"Daddy!!"  
Fraser gave in.  
"What?!"  
"There's a man in the kitchen," she illustrated, "his head is bleeding."  
Fraser excused himself from Forbes and went to the kitchen with Anna. He saw John face-down on the floor. His head had been beaten. Touching the jugular vein on the man's neck, Fraser had at last determined that he was dead.  
"Anna," he requested, "I want you to quietly get Inspector Forbes and Thatcher. Can you do that for me?"  
"Is he dead?"  
Fraser looked on Anna's curious face with a remorse. He did not want her to see death.  
"You go do what I say, alright? Good girl."  
Ray had followed Anna and Fraser in. He crouched by the body.  
"Oh, yeah. He is stone-cold dead."  
"He has been dead for at least half-a-hour," Fraser commented.  
Fraser got up and walked a few paces. In the garbage can, a towel-wrapped kitchen mallet had been tossed in. He picked up.  
"The murder weapon," Ray pointed out. "Now where is the murderer?"  
Forbes and Thatcher arrived. Forbes knelt by the body. He looked at John's head.  
"By first examination, I would say that a severe blow to the base of the skull caused this man's death." He stood and spoke to Ray. "You will have to telephone the coroner's office immediately."  
Ray did as he was asked. Thatcher placed her hands on her hips.  
"This is wonderful. Anything that could go wrong tonight did."  
Forbes scowled at Thatcher.  
"The man is dead, Inspector."  
"I am aware of that, sir."  
"We have to find suspects," Ray offered. "For all we know, the murderer is on their way to the airport by now."  
Fraser knelt by John.   
"The murderer is desperate, Ray. They are searching for something. Look how his clothes have been ruffled, his pockets have been searched. Someone wanted something from the man and they are still looking for it. We must gather possible suspects immediately."  
"Very well," Forbes nodded. "I shall examine the body further."  
Thatcher hoped to accomplish that discreetly but Ray had other plans.  
"All right, everybody!" he exclaimed. "Nobody leaves. There's a stiff in the kitchen and if there is anyone more unhappy than him it's me." Ray glared at the guests. "Murder's a dirty business. Oh yeah. I'm going to get to the bottom of this one way or another and everybody, and I mean everybody, is a suspect." He glowered at a toy poodle another guest was holding. "Even you."  
Thatcher slapped her head. What a moron, she thought. She began separating the guests and ordering sentries to make sure that no one left. Mr. and Mrs. Krauzman were interviewed first.  
Mr. Krauzman, I would like you to give an account of your actions in the past hour,"  
Thatcher demanded.  
"Certainly," he complied, "I was with my wife and chatting with a few other guests. There was a man, a Nigerian fellow, I believe, that I spoke to especially."  
"He was with me," Mrs. Krauzman defended her husband. "There is need to question anyone else."  
"We will have to have someone else corroborate this, Mrs. Krauzman," Thatcher explained.  
She guffed bitterly.  
"We will have to question the Nigerian man," Thatcher told Ray. She turned to Mr. Krauzman. "You make no secret that you disliked him? You were in an altercation with him earlier this evening."  
"Yes, I was fighting with him but that doesn't mean that I would kill him."  
"You punched him in the face," Ray added. "I quite frankly think you would like to finish the fight."  
Fraser joined them.  
"Actually, Mr. Krauzman never succeeded in hitting the victim. He was prevented from doing so. There is evidence of a bleeding nose, shortly before death, however. Whoever hit him had big hands with knuckles averaging about three-point-five centimetres in length. Mr. Krauzman does not have knuckles that big nor do they show signs of bruising."  
"That still doesn't mean he can have whacked him with the mallet," Ray countered.  
"True, but there are no fingerprints."  
"There is an alibi," Thatcher joined. She brought forward the Nigerian man Mr. Krauzman was speaking to.  
"He was speaking to me all evening," the man explained. "He never left my presence once. We were having a scintillating conversation."  
Thatcher thanked him and dismissed the Krauzmans.  
"Who else?" Ray asked.  
Robert hauled Turnbull into the kitchen. Turnbull could barely stand let alone speak coherently.  
"I thought I should bring him in, just to eliminate him from your inquiries."  
"He's drunk!" Thatcher remarked.  


"It could be an act," Ray sniped.  
Forbes lifted Turnbull's eyelids.  
"He is drunk," he concluded. "How much have you had to drink, Constable?"  
"I had one Scotch and Elaine gave me a Prozac. It made me feel sssooo happy," he slurred and fell back into oblivion.  
"Okay, so he didn't kill John," Ray decided.  


Fraser's gloved hand examined John's face. The bruises about his nose reminded Fraser of something.   
"Those bruises are premortem," Forbes expounded. "I do not think you will find them particularly significant."  
"I think I will, sir," Fraser contradicted. "If these bruises are recent and premortem, then whoever gave John these bruises may have been the last person to see him alive. Aside from the murderer, that is."  
"Whoever gave him those bruises may be the murderer, Constable."  
Fraser looked plainly on Forbes.  
"I don't think so."  


Harry wracked his hands. The pop of his knuckles irritated Elaine. Harry could see that and apologized. Elaine smiled and cradled a sleeping Anna on her knees.  
"Ya sleepy, bhoidheach?" Harry smiled.  
Anna did not answer. Elaine stared at Harry.  
"Voy-yahk?" Elaine intoned phonetically.  
"That's right," Harry nodded, "it's Scottish Gaelic. It means girl, loosely."  
"Sounds like a pretty language."  
"It is," Harry agreed. "I've tried to get Benny interested when he was little. No show. His sister was more interested than he was. He was more into catching frogs and trying out his new slingshots."  
"I thought he read at the library?" Elaine quizzed.  
"That's what he'd like you to believe," Harry laughed.  
Fraser came up behind Harry. Placing his hand gently on the sleeping Anna's head, he asked Elaine to put her in the living room so that she may sleep in peace. Once Elaine had left their presence, Fraser focussed all of his attention on Harry.  
"Were you the last one to see John alive?"  
Harry was shocked.  
"What kind of question is that?"  
"It's the kind of question they will ask if you are incarcerated. Now were you the last to see John alive?"  
Harry could not believe Fraser would ask this of him. He wanted to throw his head back and laugh.  
"For God's sake, Harry!" Fraser exclaimed. "Will you for once take something seriously?! You are a suspect. Does that mean anything to you?"  
Harry kept his lip straight.  
"Damn straight it does!" He grabbed his nephew by the shoulder. "If you think for one minute that I killed him then don't you call me your uncle. There are things that I would never do. Ever!"  
"You hit him."  
Harry gaped.  
"What?"  
Fraser grabbed Harry's hand.  
"You knuckles are bruised. They're big...I remember the time you hit that man who destroyed our snow fort back in Inuvik. We were distraught but it was no big deal. We could always build another one. But you took it too personally. I still remember the look on the man's face and what he looked like when you finished with him. I was terrified of you that day, Harry. You'd shown him no mercy and you were so big...you dwarfed everyone, even Dad..." Fraser looked into Harry's eyes. "Come with me."  


Fraser brought Harry into the kitchen. Thatcher and Robert had been standing in the shadows trying to piece together what happened and interviewing the guests. Harry observed the cold corpse of John.  
"Did he suffer?"  
Forbes glared at him.  
"What do you think?"  
"I don't know,"Harry admitted. "I'd ask him but he's already dead."  
"Harry, were you the last to see John alive?" Fraser asked gently.  
Harry nodded reluctantly.  
"Yeah. I hit him, too, on the nose, but he was alive when I left him. I swear it."  
"What did you do afterward?" Forbes asked.  
"I left the kitchen," Harry answered. "I went walking around. I was so mad at him. Whatever he was, he was nothing if not a jerk."  
"You admit that you hit and that you disliked him," Forbes joined, "but you have no alibi, do you?"  
"I suppose not," Harry shrugged. "I just have my word..."  
"Your word is not good enough!" Forbes cut him off.   
He approached Ray. Ray pulled a light pink envelope from his jacket unwillingly and handed it to Forbes. Forbes waved it in front of Harry.  
"We found this in one of John's pockets. It is addressed to you from a woman named Caroline. Should we read it or will you?"  
Harry trembled. He reached weakly for the envelope. He longed for the delicate red script. Fraser's grip on his uncle intensified while his face grew pale. That name attacked him like a death-knell.  
"Please. I haven't even opened it. I don't know how it got out of my pocket. Please..."  
Forbes gave it to Ray.  
"Read it, Detective."  
"Damn you!" Harry cried. "You'll regret this!"  
Ray opened the envelope with trepidation. He lifted out a letter exquisitely written in red and began to read it...  
  
Dear Harold,   
I have to make myself write this letter and give it to you because I cannot bear the thought of leaving you on the verge of a great cliff wondering what happened to me and why I had to go. I have been your secret and inviolate rose and you strove to love me but we cannot continue and I think you know why. Next April, I will marry Robert because he is the one I love, the one I have always loved. Our amour had to be short-lived, empty but not meaningless. I have tried to love you and in some way I think I did. But that evening with you thrust upon me a great secret that I have had to keep from everyone, even you. When I realized that I was pregnant with your child I had to leave. I fled to the Sisters of Mercy convent north of Norman Wells. They have been so good to me. Your son was born in January. The sisters promised to give him a good home and they did. He is the only son of a doctor west of Inuvik. His new mother has called him a blessing. He is a blessing, Harold, but not for us. Alexander, they have called him, is meant for the Forbes not for us. Please don't look for him and don't look for me. I have said all I need to say. What has happened before is over...  


  
"...We loved each other and were ignorant. Love, Caroline."   
Ray's voice ended on a soft, final note. His face was downcast. He dropped the letter onto Harry's lap. Harry's face was pale. The red of his cheeks made so by wanton mirth had left and been replaced with a solemn shock. No one in that kitchen spoke. Fraser had gone feeble with disbelief and Forbes, the forgotten son, had been rendered powerless. He felt like a child, sightless, mute and helpless. Robert was attacked with loss. He locked his eyes on Forbes. Ray stepped out of the kitchen. He noticed Elaine standing behind the large potted plant just outside.  
"He made the world to be a grassy road before her wandering feet," she murmured.  
Ray looked at her bewildered.  
"What Harry said to me when he first met me."  
Ray slid along the wall to the floor.  
"Do you have those little Prozac pills? I could use one of those and a Scotch right about now."  
"Do you want to end up like Turnbull?"  
Ray shut his eyes.  
"I envy him now. Why don't you have one?"  
"I can't exceed the five-a-day dosage," she admitted and handed him a little blue pill.  
"See ya next Tuesday," he said quietly and poured himself some Scotch.  


Harry clutched the envelope.  
"I...I must leave."  
He ambled out slowly. Ned and Ingerud, perplexed by his overwhelming sorrow, received him with concern. Forbes tried to stop him but Fraser held out his hand.  
"Let him go," he suggested.  
"We have a murder investigation," Forbes reminded him.  
"I know," Fraser concurred, "but he is not the one we are looking for. You know that."  
"I know a man is lying dead and that man," he meant Harry, "is a liar."  
"Not a liar," Fraser corrected him, "just a man torn from loss."  
"I don't have time for this sentimental nonsense!" Forbes rasped.  
"Examine the body again," Fraser suggested.  
"What could I have missed?"  
"We've all missed something," Fraser concluded. Fraser walked out of the kitchen.  
Robert wanted to speak to his brother but Forbes would not talk to him or anyone. He turned his back to Robert and Thatcher. Thatcher took Robert's arm and led him out of the kitchen.  


When Fraser entered the banquet room, Harry had already gone. Not even Ned and Ingerud had stayed behind. He now saw Harry in an angle he thought foreign to him. Humbled, jilted, kept from the truth. He remembered how Harry looked when his mother died. The ache of loss painted uniquely on his normally smiling face. And now Fraser could see it again. If Fraser could do nothing else, he would vindicate Harry of the crime of which he had been accused. He walked up to Mr. Krauzman.  
"You've done business with John Ash, yes?"  
Mr. Krauzman nodded.  
"His company was going under. I asked him to sell it to me. If he could not make it work, I could. But he would not give it to me. Such a stubborn man. His partner wanted to sell."  
Fraser's eyebrow lifted.  
"His partner?"  
"Yes," Mr. Krauzman, "Janice Skinner. She was here this evening, I think."  
Fraser became agitated.  
"Thank you, Mr. Krauzman."  
Fraser ran to Elaine.  
"Where's Ray?"  
"Passed out somewhere. Why?"  
"I think I know who killed John. Come with me."  


Janice threw the files on the floor. She scoured the office. She did not hear Fraser and Elaine enter the office. When she saw them she gasped.   
"You killed John," Fraser said. "You struck him on the head with a kitchen mallet."  
Janice had been found out. She slumped onto a chair.  
"I didn't mean to. He wouldn't sell to Krauzman. We were going under and that was the only thing that could save us from financial ruin. John was such an arrogant pig. He just wouldn't give in. I picked up the mallet and hit him. I didn't think I'd hit him that hard but when he fell, I panicked. I rubbed the mallet clean of fingerprints and tossed it away. He was groaning, I think. I slipped out of the consulate from the back."  
"You went through his pockets," Fraser pointed out. "Why?"  
"I was looking my offer. I had it in a little yellow envelope. I wanted to get rid of it before anyone found out I had made it. I saw some envelope on the floor but it wasn't mine. It was a light pink envelope, nice writing on it. I just stuffed it into his pocket before I left."  
Fraser lifted her from her seat.  
"You'll have to come with me."  
Janice obeyed Fraser. She could see no other alternative.  
  
The guests had gone home. The night of havoc had ended and they would sleep well into the sultry night. Janice sat quietly in the corner of the banquet room, the handcuffs placed around her slender wrists. Mounties walked in and out of the kitchen and the coroner had finally taken the body away. She felt guilty but there was a resignation about it. She felt she could withstand the mortification prison had to offer. At least she could sleep at night.  


Forbes threw his latex gloves into the garbage can and wiped a bead of sweat that formed on his forehead.  


Fraser felt an apprehension about approaching him. His half-brother, the serious and distant man, could not even look at him. He felt somehow that if he could clear Harry of the crime then Forbes could lift his head and come to terms with the past hidden so long ago.  
"I've found John's murderer," Fraser said. "Janice Skinner, John's business partner. She admitted to striking him with the mallet."  
Fraser awaited Forbes' reply. Had he the humanity to set aside his shame and accept that reality? If he could, Fraser thought, he would have overcome a major block to reconciliation. But Forbes looked dully at Fraser.  
"She didn't kill John," Forbes said, "he died of antibiotic induced enteris- food poisoning. The coroner's team found evidence of that in his esophagus. He was dead long before she had hit him."  
Forbes pushed his way past Fraser. He did not bow his head, look at him or speak. Fraser at once felt cold. There was so much to be said, so much to be resolved, yet it would have to wait. It was all over in one conclusion. The rains had come. Hushed thunder rumbled through the clouds. Fraser walked out the back. Rain tickled his face. He stood as the torrents of rain washed over him. He slicked back his hair. Damn Forbes, he thought, I can believe his blood runs in me.   
It did and that could not be resolved.  


Again at three in the morning, thunder belted Chicago. Fraser could barely sleep. He sat up in bed. Soft whimpering caused him to rise. Anna tossed and turned. He knelt by her.  
"Uncle Harry...the horseman is leaving, going away..."  
He touched his daughter's shoulder. She shot up and bewilderedly looked about her.  
"Anna, you were having a bad dream."  
"I was?"  
Fraser nodded to the naive child. She fell back on her pillow and shut her eyes. Fraser touched them closed and watched her as she fell asleep once more.  


Thatcher arrived early. She didn't bother to eat breakfast at home. Still shaken by last night's events, she wanted to get back into the routine of consulate life. She found that work helped her forget life's little disasters. She went into the staffroom kitchen and popped an English muffin into the toaster. The small window above the sink had been left open all night. She reached over to close it. She brushed aside the jars of raspberry jam and the white cotton curtain and tried to push the obstructed window shut. In the corner of her eye, she could see the scruffy face of evil. She screamed. The Swiss Army knife went down and down plunging into the juicy body. Weakened, Thatcher grasped the white curtain from its rungs. The jar of runny raspberry jam fell, broke and leaked into the sink. She had collapsed on the floor.  
Ray stared at her. His face was covered in stubble, his clothes dishevelled and he was definitely hungover. He looked at the huge spider he had just killed with his knife.  
"What the hell is her problem?"he asked and left the consulate.  


Ray staggered into the precinct and lay his head down on his desk.  
"I could use an aspirin," he called out weakly.   
A little white tablet appeared a few centimetres before him accompanied with a glass of water. Ray lifted his head to thank the good Samaritan. Elaine's chocolate eyes pleaded with Ray.  
"What do you want?"  
"Where's Ben?" she asked. "I've tried to phone all morning."  
"Do you think I live with him or something? I don't know!" Ray swallowed back the aspirin and the water.  
"Will you try and care about someone other than yourself!" she scolded.  
Ray stood up though weakly.  
"I don't know what you want from me, Elaine. But you've never taken a bullet for him. If you've done something more, I'd certainly like to know about it."  
Elaine gaped at him. His hungover insensitivity ired her. She wanted to slap him. She lifted her hand to him. A firm but gentle grasp held it back. Fraser put her hand down. She stood back. In his face she read a desperation.  
"Ray," he began, "has Harry contacted you? I've tried to reach him...."  
"What the hell is this?!" Ray cried. "Do I look like I know where everybody is? No?"  
"Ray, I need to speak to him. It's important."  
"Go then."  
"But what if he's already left? Then I will never see him again."  
"That is not my fault, Benny," Ray walked to the coffee station. "If you and your whole family want to set up little barricades around each other, fine. Leave me out."  
Fraser gawked at him.  
"You are being so bloody obtuse, Ray! Do you know that?"  
Ray spun around and faced Fraser.  
"Don't yell at me because people in this country have a better rapport with your relatives than you do!"  
Fraser could not contain himself. He struck Ray squarely on the chin. Ray reeled back but still remained standing. He rubbed his bruised chin.  
"I think punching must run in your family, Benny."  
Fraser wanted to apologize. A hand rubbed his shoulder.  
"A Sandpiper is about to depart in half-an-hour at the Chicago Regional Airport."  


Fraser touched Elaine's face slightly, softly. He withdrew his hand, self-containment stepping in.  
"I'll take you," Ray offered.  
"I can't ask you do that, Ray," Fraser replied, "not after I..."  
"Forget about it, " Ray huffed, "you'll never get there on time if we continue to stand around. Let's go."  
Fraser conceded. He followed Ray out. Stopping once, he turned to look at Elaine. Her eyes never left him. Breaking away, he left the precinct.  


Ray pulled up to the hangar. Fraser started to get out.  
"Do you want me to go with you?" Ray asked.  
Fraser shook his head.  
"I have to do this alone," Fraser said definitively and ran to the tarmac.  
Harry threw his backpack into the plane and was ready to hop in until he saw his nephew run toward him.  
"Uncle Harry! Wait!"  
Harry stepped away from the plane.  
"What is it, boyo?!"  
"You can't leave, Harry," he cried breathlessly. "Not until you've talked to Forbes...Alexander."  
Harry sighed.  
"I can't do that."  
Fraser tugged on the man's lumber jack shirt defeatedly, like a child begging for something.  
"You have to, Harry. He's your son."  
Harry squinted his eyes.  
"A son I knew nothing about? A son I've spent a lifetime away from? A son who won't even look at me in the eye? He's no son of mine."  
Fraser shook the giant by the shoulders.  
"Nothing you do can change that. He is your son. Harry, you've got to talk to him. Nothing can be resolved until you do."  
Harry shook his head. Fraser pushed him.  
"You're a coward, Harry! For all your bravado, what the hell are you? I don't see why I ever looked up to. You were always so big to me, even now. But you are a small man."  
"Don't you ever say that to me."  
"Why? Because you're my uncle? You're not even a man."  
Harry hit him. Fraser fell and landed uncomfortably on the cement.  
"What kind of man leaves his son? Talk to him Harry."  
Harry looked at his nephew once and stepped into the plane. The propellers whirred and the plane rolled on the tarmac. Fraser followed it, screaming to the deaf Harry. The Sandpiper at last left the ground and into the air. Fraser, defeated, swore at the man. He stomped back to the Riv, cursing the ignorant man taught the violent ways of love by the second Helen.  


It had been three weeks since Fraser last spoke to Harry. Forbes had left the afternoon of Harry's departure. A silence had distanced everyone. Fraser did not speak much to anyone, not even to Ray. He would see Elaine once in a while, momentary meetings, wordless and awkward. He spoke very little to his coworkers as if they could see the mark of Cain on him. They tried not to say anything to him, anyway.  
It was the first morning in August. It was warm and sunny. Fraser, as usual, had made his way to the consulate and began to work. A white envelope fluttered on his desk.  
"What is this?"  
Thatcher was solemn.  
"It's about your uncle, Constable..."  
She did not say anything further. He opened the envelope, made now an omen of ill fortune, and read what was in it. He put it down.  
"Fraser, I'm sorry," Thatcher tried to say.  
"No need," Fraser said quietly, his face stuck in a stoic look of acceptance. In his mind's eye, he could see what happened as though the Muses would replay the terrible events in their entirety for him...  


Rolling hills and sharp mountain peaks decked with tall pines and cut in half with weeping rivers. This was British Columbia and Harry loved it. It called to him and made it his home. He felt safe nowhere else. He touched the steering wheel gently and swerved to the right slightly. Ned readjusted his earpiece.   
"We're nearly there," he reassured Harry.  
Harry nodded politely. He had been strangely laconic over the weeks. His only comfort had been in the ripped pink envelope and the sloping, sweeping red script on it. He muttered to himself rather than talk to Ned. The red lips he had kissed haunted him. He now seemed nearer to them, especially in his sleep. Somewhere over the British Columbia landscape he could see the face, the red lips, the stern blue eyes, long brown hair of Caroline.  
"Ho ro, mo nighean donn bhoidheach," Harry intoned softly, smiling to himself, "one day I'll join you in the Highlands, Carol."  
"What was that, Harry?" Ned asked.  
Harry shook his head.  
A sputter and a whirr caused Ned to jump a little.  
"She's failing us, Harry. We've got put more power into her."  
Harry was as stone.  
"Do you ever wonder when you wake up, 'is this my day to die?"  
"Don't flake out on me, Harry. Pull the throttle."  
Harry did not move. He just stared ahead.  
"I know that I shall meet my fate-Somewhere in the clouds above..."  
"Come on, Harry! Work with me!"  
A lonely impulse of delight-Drove me to this tumult in the clouds..."  
"Harry!"  
"The years to come seemed a waste of breath, A waste of breath the years left behind- In balance of this life..."  
"Harry..."  
"...this death."  


The mountain face welcomed the Sandpiper like a great rocky wall of death drawing the wayward plane to its solid bosom and at last its fiery demise.  


Fraser felt different. This journey to British Columbia had been different from the other times he had come. He was born here but as he had told Anna once, when one travels as much as he had close does not mean as much anymore. He had always believed that for the past made old men of them all. Their aged eyes could only look behind and talk of what was. Everything was different. He was not chasing criminals who had escaped from the Yukon or hiking. He had come for the remains of Harold Iain Fraser, the first son of John, Mac Shimi, admirer of William Butler Yeats and pilot extraordinaire. The same feeling of dread and distance had possessed him. He walked into Fort Nelson's coroner's office and made his way to the chief coroner.  
"Constable Benton Fraser," he introduced himself, "I am here for the remains of Harold Fraser."  
"I'm sorry," the bespectacled man apologized, "but someone has already claimed the remains..."  


Forbes dusted around the vase carefully so as not to disturb Harry's rest. He bought a nice though tacky vase for him at K-Mart- white with red zigzag stripes around its middle. Harry would have liked it. He readjusted the tiny plaque he had engraved for him- Cast a cold eye on life, on death. Horseman, pass by. Harry was a wilful man, Forbes thought. He defied everything.  
Putting the feather duster away, he sat down with a thin dusty red book. He saw Robert against the screen door.  
"Don't just stand there, come in."  
Robert walked in. He would not sit with Forbes.  
"What brings you by, Robert?"  
"I'm sorry about Harry...your father..."  
Forbes huffed.  
"The folly of being comforted..."  
"You're even reading Yeats," Robert pointed out, paining the severe man. He paused for a moment. "He's here."  
Forbes knew of whom he spoke.   
"Really?"  
"He wants to talk to you." Robert sat next to him to intensify his point. "He's your brother."  
"You are my brother, Robert. Nothing will change that."  
"No, I am not. Not your real brother, anyway."  
"You will always be my brother. Not him. He is a stranger to me." It was decided for Forbes. "No, I will not speak to him. There is nothing to say."  
Robert got up to leave. The man he had called his brother was always impossible.  
"Give him peace of mind, Alex. That is all he wants. That is all you can give him."  
Forbes knew Robert was right. He never liked being held over by those smaller than himself but his younger adopted brother was right. No amount of pride could negate it.  


A soft breeze swayed the green arms of the sentry pines. The wailing of the Uilean pipes was set aloft on the wind and carried into the horizon. Fraser joined the grieving party for Ned O'Neil and stood by Ingerud as she wept for him. He put his hand on her shoulder.  
"Constable Fraser," Ingerud wiped the profuse tears from her eyes. She looked at the coffin as they placed it in the earth. "He wanted me to come here and see him. Not this way..." She fell into Fraser and wept bitterly. She composed herself, apologized for her lack of control.  
"No need," Fraser comforted her.  
"I am sorry about your uncle. He was a good man." Ingerud's hand fell on his shoulder. "You'll be alright."  
Fraser watched as Ingerud left the burial ground. He would never see her again.  


The afternoon was overcast. Rains threatened northern B.C. Fraser did not mind them. He had always, even now, found them comforting. The wind and the tiny droplets of rain were drowned out by the sounds of a Ford Jimmy on the gravel. A body stepped out. Forbes encroached on the porch of Fraser's cabin. Fraser did not speak to him.  
"I went to the coroner's office this morning to get Harry. They said you had him."  
Forbes nodded.  
"I thought I should be the one to intern him. It was the least I could do."  
Fraser agreed quietly.  
"He came to me, Harry did. He tried to speak to me but I would not listen."  
Fraser spun his head to him. Forbes made no apologies for it.  
"I didn't think anything needed to be said."  
"Everything needed to be said, Alexander," Fraser scowled. "We don't shrug people off because we've never had an affinity with them. If we did that with everyone we've loved, where the hell would we be?"  
"I don't know," Forbes admitted. He hunched over on the bench. He picked himself up. "My plane leaves for Inuvik tomorrow."  
Fraser ran into the cabin and gave him a scrap of paper.  
"Write to Anna," he said, "every little girl needs an uncle who writes to them and helps them build snow forts and carries them on their shoulders..."  
Forbes seemed mystified. Fraser just nodded.  
"That's what uncles do," he said.  
Forbes smiled broadly. It was strange but he felt natural doing it.  
"Uncle Alexander," he sighed and got into the Jimmy.  
The rains pelted down. No thunder. Just the rain tickling the pines and the echoing laughter of Harry somewhere in distance. Close did mean something now, more than it ever did before. But Uncle Harry always knew that. Uncle Harry knew everything.  


  


  


  



End file.
